My Father

My father died at 55
When I was 31.
He never was a grandpa
Though his namesake is my son.

For Fathers' Day I must have bought
A token card and gift,
The effort being just enough
To give his heart a lift.

I miss his laugh and, too, the way
He liked to tousle hair,
A subtle way, without a word,
His soul to me he'd bare.

He missed so much by dying young.
Now memories must serve
To fill in all the gaps with love
The years have helped preserve.